Wednesday, January 30, 2008

For those that have recently linked to me, thank you so much. I will return the favor soon, but remember that I'm the luddite, and sometimes need help navigating the electronic world. And as always, apologies for the time between chapters to this tale---think of it as being like the Heinz catsup ad...anticipation. For those just joining this story, read back to parts I and II.

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He reached for his cock and started to stroke it absentmindedly, as she continued to move her tongue back and forth, trying desperately to match his lazy rhythm, and unconsciously I reached to the front of my jeans and mimiced his movements. For just a moment or two everyone was lost in movement, and we all remained stationery and silent, far away in thought, each of us concentrating on pleasuring ourselves or others, she with her tongue buried deep in his crotch, her nose pressed against his butt, he with his hand moving slowly up and down the length of his cock, my hand matching his motion.

Slowly he stepped back behind her, and her head moved back to a vertical position, her eyes half closed still, her hands now on the tops of her thighs, as she waited. "You can touch yourself now, slowly, left hand only, slowly," he told her, and she reached with her left hand, her off hand, the hand she normally didn't use for this, pulling away the small triangle of silk with her right hand, her left hand diving into her groin, two fingers extended, moving slowing up and down, a small groan escaping from deep in her throat, her eyes now closing as she travelled far away in her sensation.

"Are you wet, you slut? Are you dripping?", he asked, bringing her back to the reality of the room and the presence of her position. She nodded, and continued to move her two fingers back and forth, her right hand now reaching in to part her lips, her left hand moving slightly faster. "Take those two fingers and put them inside, deep inside, feel your own juices." And he moved around and stood before her. "I want you to take those two fingers and make them as well as you can with your own slime, and I want you to paint the head of my cock with all that wetness. Do you understand me?"

And once again, she could only nod as she moved to do exactly what he told her to do, what he commanded her to do, moving forward slightly on her parted knees, reaching as deep inside herself as she could, gathering as much moisture as she could, and then reaching forward in a practiced motion, her right hand still holding her slit wide open, her left hand reaching up to coat the head of his cock with her ooze, her fingers glistening slightly in the natural light of the room. She twirled the fingers around and around, and I could see a drop of precum edge out of the opening in his cock.

"Now lick your own juices off my dick, you slut. Taste your excitement and lick it all up."

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

This is part two of an ongoing tale. You would be well advised to read the first part if you haven't already done so....

He took off his jeans and calmly folded them on the bed. He was wearing striped boxers, and his penis forced the fabric forward in a hugh lump. "Take them off me," he told her, and she reached to either side, grabbing the waistband and pulled down, stopping to pull the front forward so that his cock could spring free. It was huge, a long club topped with a swollen purplish knob, and I could hear the breath catch in her throat, and mine as well, as it bobbed in front of him.

"Sink down lower on your haunches, as low as you can go," he commanded. "Open your pants and get as low on your knees as you can." And she tried, but her pants were too taut, and the fabric prevented her from getting closer to the floor. "Take your pants off. Quickly. And don't touch yourself, don't you dare touch yourself." And she scrambled to comply, kicking the pants to the corner of the bedroom, re-assuming her position on the floor, taking her knees wider so that her crotch almost grazed the floor. I could see that her slit was wet, her excitement dripping from her down her thighs that were now open and unrestricted, and the smell of her lust escaped into the room. She was naked except for her tiny thong.

He walked around until he was directly behind her.

"Now, tilt your head back, all the way back." And as she did, he straddled her face, holding his ballsack up so that it fell on her chin, his cock now beginning to show just the slightest drop of precum. "Lick," he said, and I watched as her tongue came out and started to move back and forth between the base of his ballsack and the opening of his anus, her hands now on her splayed thighs for balance, licking back and forth, first with just the tip of her tongue, then more and more of her tongue until it was flattened out on his crotch, her head moving back and forth over and over, her body just bobbing up and down slightly as she continued to lick for life itself.

"She's sooo good at this. Does she do it for you?" And I flushed with embarrassment and shame, knowing that I couldn't nod my head.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Can anyone give me both a working and practical definition for POLYGAMY, POLYANDRY, and POLYAMORY?I'm reading an article in the NY Times today about Carla Bruni, and she describes herself in believing in two of the above three. My luddite dictionary makes little distinction among them.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Last night, I finished reading my first book of the new year. Most of the things I read come from either the NYT Book Review, or the Village Voice, or from recommendations from others. I read primarily fiction, and am also engaged in a very, very longrunning project of Alexander Dumas, which I read concurrently with newer books. On that front, I'm about to start the first volume of a trilogy which will probably take me about three years to complete. The book is called The Companions of Jehu, and I'll start it after I finished reading The Chevalier of Maison-Rouge, which plots the prison break of Marie Antoinette after the beheading of her husband.

Yesterday's finished book was Matala, by Craig Holden, and I think the impetus came from the NYT. It wasn't a great book, billing itself as a novel of deceit, and reminded me of a great film called The Company of Strangers, with Helen Mirren and Christopher Walken, about the corruption of a young couple by an older one. And the book was engrossing only on the surface, detailing a couple (older woman, younger man) who befriend a young student in Europe and take turns debauching her. But one paragraph grabbed me with its word painting (and if I'm guilty of copyright infringment...):

And then the girl, finally knowing that she was home, could only say, "Oh, God," and their mouths were each upon the other. And then Justine took hold of the front of the little black dress with both her hands, pulled until it ripped, and tore it all away. And as her tongue searched the girl's mouth, she took her nipples between her fingernails."Such tits," she whispered, and then she pinched. The girl's mouth opened all the way when she screamed so that Justine could now explore its very depths.

I've written in comments to other peoples blogs, especially toy and Urban Gypsy, vivdly erotic wordpainting shortens my breath a bit, and makes me have a strange feeling in my throat as if it were closing up, almost as if someone was choking me slightly. And boy, did this do it, coming out of almost nowhere in the book, a mild seduction scene suddenly barrelling down the tracks.

Monday, January 7, 2008

This never happened, but it could have, in a slightly different form and format, and almost did happen, a long time ago...

I had come home from work early that afternoon, the first time it happened, when I pulled into the driveway and saw a strange car parked behind hers. I figured that it was some local friend, or perhaps a repairman for some appliance that was being recalcitrant. I opened the door and called out, but received no response, and so I walked around through the living room and the family room, finding nobody. And so I climbed the stairs and headed into the largest bedroom.

She was crouched before him, and she was naked to the waist, her jeans sitting low on her hips, the turquoise triangle of her thong peeking out above the waistband, her breasts hanging down in their exposure, the nipples erect. Her head was bowed, and her hair hung down around her cheeks, reaching down to the tops of her breasts, obscuring her face from view.

"What the hell's going on here?," I asked, and he responded, "I'm getting ready to fuck your wife. I've been fucking her for six months, and I can make her do anything I want her to do. Want to watch?" And I looked down at her, and asked "Is this true? Is this really true?" At first she didn't answer me, but as I waited, she raised her head and turned it to the side so that I could see her eyes. They were half closed, and the lust that emanated from them made my breath catch in my throat. She couldn't speak, but nodded her head yes, and my heart sank in my chest.

"Watch this," he said, as he reached forward and turned her head back to face him. "Put your hands under your tits, and hold them up to me. Now, use your thumbs and index fingers, and pinch the nipples. Pinch them, harder, harder, you slut." And she did it, closing her eyes as she squeezed and pinching her nipples until they turned red, and the area around them became white with the pressure, moaning slightly as she did so. "Now, do it again, slut," he commanded, and she squeezed again. "Hurts more the second time, especially when you let go, doesn't it? But you'll do whatever I tell you to do, won't you?" And she just nodded her head and waited. "Again! And harder this time." And she did, moaning more continuously, her hips starting to buck slightly as she crouched on her haunches, desperately looking for some release

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

It seems to me that thinking about sex is what we do when we don't have anything else to think about...every single blogger seemed to slow down to a crawl during the last ten days, I know I did, and now that I've gotten past the NYE hurdle, I'm back to thinking a lot about sex. It seems to be something so basic, so intrinsicly (sp?) at the forefront, that I wonder if everybody is thinking the same thoughts as I am. And it always seems that way on line, where there are more websites and blogs about sex than about anything else.

Breasts---why are men so fascinated and entranced by breasts? I'm not necessarily looking for the deep psychological breastfeeding thing, although that might be the reason. Is it because they're hidden, a subterranean sex indicator that men don't have? Two weeks ago, it was as warm on a Sunday as it is cold tonight, here in NYC. It was early afternoon, and I was on my way to the bank to get cash, when I past this absolutely striking woman. She had just gotten out of bed, her hair still mussed in some sleep pattern, her eyes half opened to the sunlight, a small crease running down one cheek, dressed in some tight fitting sweat suit, no underwear of any kind, projectile boobs standing up on their own through the sweatshirt, erect nipples sticking up through the fabric, on her way down the street. And then, a few minutes later, I saw her coming back, carrying a cardboard holder from Starbucks with two tall lattes or something else like that. Sigh....

My New Years Resolution??? To stop engaging in bad sex with Her, and by that I don't mean that the sex is bad. It isn't, but I need to pay more attention to Her timing and needs, because as Dan Savage sometimes puts it, she's 2Gs out of three---good and giving, but not always game, and certainly not for anything.

And just as an afterthought, does anyone know a blogger "lokisrisingpheonix"? I get daily traffic from his blog, but can't get on because it's by invitation only. Not fair.

About Me

This blog will contain, from time to time, entries some may deem suitable for adults only. If this makes you uncomfortable, please leave now.
I'm self-employed, in a long term relationship with Her, but constantly questing for new experiences of all sorts. I'll try almost anything, at least once.
I'm a New Yorker, born and bred, and as such I'm very dependant on vocal inflection, which is hard when you're writing. But I'm trying....